


Eros

by TheMissingMask



Series: Basil lives [5]
Category: The Picture of Dorian Gray - Oscar Wilde
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-22
Updated: 2018-09-28
Packaged: 2019-07-15 12:36:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16063289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMissingMask/pseuds/TheMissingMask
Summary: In which Lord Henry succeeds in stealing Basil's heart first





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Set right at the beginning of the book when Lord Henry and Basil are talking in Basil's garden. Basically, since we are all free to interpret as we will, I confess that some of the parts of the first couple of chapters I interpreted as Lord Henry desiring Basil, and Basil pretty much just brushing him off (or, I choose to believe, being oblivious). For example, he shrugs off Lord Henry's hand on his shoulder, and doesn't fall into the bait of being 'more than an acquaintance'. This little drabble is pretty much just playing upon that interpretation, and what would have happened if things went a different direction from that point.

———

“I should think it was, Harry. But according to your category I must be merely an acquaintance.”

“My dear old Basil, you are much more than an acquaintance.”

There was an immediate retort on the artist’s lips, but it fell mute as he perceived the uncharacteristic melancholy in his friend’s handsome features. There was something solemn in the words, and painful in the dark eyes. A slight crease formed upon Lord Henry’s brow as Basil sat and observed him, an expression familiar from their Oxford days, when he was troubling over some new intrigue.

"Then what, Harry?" Basil cautioned to ask at length, "Where in your category of relations do I reside?"

"In the undefinable, my dear Basil."

Lord Henry stood and walked over to examine the lilac bush with its bountiful vibrant flowers, delicately caressing one with his long fingers.  The artist rose too and moved to stand just behind him, close enough that the heat from their bodies seemed to mingle in the air between them.

Lord Henry spoke absently and slowly to the flowers in his hand, so that his companion felt as an eavesdropper rather than the other part in the protracted conversation.

“I tire of this dance. The gavotte grows wearisome after a time, the steps mere repetitions of what came before, and the partners all shades of the same character.”

"And I tire of your enigmatic riddles, Harry.  Tell me what’s wrong."

Basil brought a hand up to touch Lord Henry's arm, but no sooner had his fingers made contact that the other man had spun, grabbed the artist's paint-stained wrist, and pulled him into a bruising kiss. It was powerful, aggressive, and full of unspoken passion, but all too soon it was gone. Lord Henry pulled back and glared at the grass between their feet.

“You don’t want this.” He muttered as if stating the plainest fact.

“On the contrary. I want it far too much.” Basil whispered back, catching hold of Henry’s lapels so the other man could not pull back further, “But I know you, Harry. I know the way your conquests proceed. Tell me this isn’t just another game of yours. An act of curiosity so that you might include _this_ among your catalogue of experiences.”

“It’s not that, Basil.”

“I wish I could believe you,” The painter dropped his head against Lord Henry’s chest, “Oh God, I wish I could believe you.”

The taller man wrapped his arms around Basil’s shoulders and kissed the top of his bowed head gently.

“You can always see through my lies. Tell me,” He pulled back and held the other man at arm’s length, “Am I lying now?”

There was a pause in which only the soft breeze and the humming of a nearby bee disrupted the silence between them. Slowly, Basil shook his head.

“If you are, it is a very good lie. But…” A sly smile overcame his features, “It would be easier to ascertain were you to resume kissing me.”

Lord Henry grinned, “With pleasure, my dear Basil.”

He tugged the artist into his embrace and pressed their lips together once more.

———

Before long, they had by unspoken agreement moved themselves to Basil’s bedroom, conscious of the greater possibility of being observed by someone in the garden and the repercussions thereof, although these troubled the artist far more than the lord.

Lord Henry had Basil beneath him on the bed, shirt half-unbuttoned to expose the pale expanse of skin beneath, which he was delighting in peppering with soft kisses interspersed with possessive bites. Basil had long since removed Lord Henry’s shirt entirely, and was thoroughly exploring the contours of his body with his hands, each touch engraving an image in his mind of the form of this man.

“I have to draw you like this.” Basil breathed, words coming out with considerable difficulty. Lord Henry grinned and captured his mouth again, the action bringing Basil’s hands instinctively to tangle into the other’s hair in an attempt to deepen the kiss. Lord Henry grabbed those hands and pinned them against the mattress.

“You are hardly in any position to be drawing right now, my dear.”

He licked his lips at the sight of the man’s defiant expression, then laughed when it transformed into a pleasured gasp as Lord Henry rolled his hips downwards.

“You’re incorrigible.” Basil complained, but his eyes closed in pleasure and his body responded eagerly to Lord Henry’s action. He arched his back against the other man, this time drawing a moan from Lord Henry, which coincided almost perfectly with a sharp knock at the door.

Both men paused instantly and looked in panic towards the entry. The key was in the lock on their side, but neither could recall whether or not they had actually turned it in their haste to remove coats and ties and waistcoats, boots and shirts.

The handle turned, but the door didn’t open.

Basil breathed a sigh of relief and would have relaxed, were it not for the wicked grin developing on Lord Henry’s face.

“Don’t you dare.” The artist whispered sharply. The grin only became that much more wicked.

Another knock sounded, and Basil swallowed thickly before calling out in a strained voice, “Yes. What is it?”

“Mr Hallward, sir.” Came the voice on the other side, “Mr Gray has arrived.”

Basil had to suppress a moan as Henry began to suck at his neck once more. He closed his eyes tight and tried to concentrate on forming coherent sentences.

“Thank you, Parker. Please-please inform Mr Gray that I am - ah - un-unwell at present, and shan't be able to..." He gasped when those lips began to move lower, tracing their way down his chest as his shirt was unfastened further, ”…be able to continue the portrait today.  I shall call upon him late-later. Yes. That is…that is all, Parker. Please go!”

There was a pause, but at last footsteps sounded on the corridor outside, fading into silence. Lord Henry came back up to meet Basil’s lips with his own.

“What about your Adonis?” He asked with the barest hint of trepidation and a stronger tone of satisfaction.

Basil leant up into a deep, lingering kiss, “What of Adonis? I have Eros.”

———

As Basil Hallward completed the portrait of Dorian Gray, producing the most stunning work of art he had created to date, it was Lord Henry who encompassed his thoughts and the love he felt for his old friend that found its way through his paintbrush onto the canvas. Dorian was delighted with the portrait, hugged Basil in gratitude and offered that wonderful smile of his, but the artist found his mind lingering on the strong arms and bruising kiss of Lord Henry as he embraced his subject.

The night he sent the painting onwards to Dorian, encased in a stunningly ornate frame of Basil’s own design, Lord Henry was once again in his studio. The easel now stood empty, ready to accept the next canvas and the masterpiece that would be created upon it. But Basil was not before the canvas that night. He was on the couch underneath Lord Henry Wotton.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It had become almost the norm for Basil Hallward to wake up in the arms of Lord Henry Wotton

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just had too much fun writing these two, and after spending literally all night working on a presentation I decided to relax by permitting some random writing of the ship, so here it sails.

It had become almost the norm for Basil Hallward to wake up in the arms of Lord Henry Wotton, either in his own bed or the considerably more luxurious one of his lover. Their friendship had extended such a great many years that no one took any note of their often being in each other’s company. It was hardly shocking or unexpected, and indeed the only remark ever made on the subject was that the largely reclusive artist was emerging into society more frequently than had previously been his wont.

The servants were, of course, at risk of uncovering their secret. But Basil had only the one man Parker, who didn’t reside in the house and never raised objection should the artist dismiss him early in the evenings. Lord Henry’s servants were more numerous, but habitually retired before their master, and therefore never had chance to see him going up to his chambers with another man in his embrace.

For Basil, who had spent years concealing his particular tastes, and for several of those hiding specifically this very affection for his old friend, maintaining the secrecy of their relationship was no trial. Lord Henry, however, evidently struggled more with this. He was a man of sharp honesty. Never to shy away from a thought, or opinion, or statement of fact, no matter how controversial, or rather, especially not when it was controversial. And in this matter he was much the same. He understood the need for discretion, of course, but could not entirely appreciate the severity of the matter. The fact terrified Basil, but that very facet of Lord Henry’s personality, his honesty and outward distaste for social convention, was one that defined him as truly singular, and the artist could not deny that he loved him all the more for it.

That morning, the artist awoke in his own bedroom. Sunlight filtered in strange soft hues through pale lilac drapes, casting the room in a gentle rose colour. It promised to be a cold day, the biting chill of the terminating winter lingering in the air. Basil could feel it on his one uncovered arm that curled around Lord Henry’s shoulders. The rest of his body was entirely enveloped within the embrace of that gentleman and the layered blankets that formed their bedding.

Waking like this would never grow old for Basil. His heart ached with the happiness that greeted him every morning, tinged bitterly with the fear that, whilst it was so precious to the artist, it would soon cease to be so for the lord. Every morning his mind fought this battle of joy against terror, and every morning when his lover’s eyes opened and a broad smile graced his handsome face, the former won.

Lord Henry stirred a little in his sleep, mumbling something incoherent, but no doubt in his dreaming mind, remarkably profound. Basil laughed a little and decided he would very happily have let the man doze all morning, were it not for an appointment that the chime of the far off London church bells told him was unnervingly imminent.

“Harry.” Basil murmured to the messy brown hair filling most of his vision, “Harry. Move.”

The man in question grumbled and shifted slightly, tightening his arms around his lover’s body in protest. Basil sighed and rolled his eyes, shoving at Lord Henry’s head half-heartedly with his free hand.

“I have a respectable young woman coming in an hour to have her portrait done.”

“The significance of that being?” The bored tones of the reply was evident despite it being muffled by Basil’s chest and gruff with sleep.

“I think it would be deemed more than a little socially unacceptable for me to accept her in my present state of undress. Or with you wrapped about me like an octopus, for that matter.”

“Your present state of undress suits you very well, my dear,” Was the immediate reply, followed shortly by, “As does having myself wrapped around you.”

This latter was delivered with a devilish smile on the lips of Lord Henry, who rose just enough to bite over Basil’s collarbone. The artist closed his eyes and relished the sensation for the barest moment before glaring at his lover and shoving him off, rolling over to get out of the bed.

“Unlike you, Harry, I actually have to work.” He said, feigning indignation.

Lord Henry laughed and sat up to catch Basil around the waist before he could move too far from the bed.

“Harry!” A shamefully unmanly giggle escaped the artist’s throat as he was pulled back onto the sheets.

“Shhh!” Lord Henry pinned Basil beneath him and smirked, “Parker will hear us.”

“Fortunately he is off today visiting his family.” Basil returned, “Which means that I must be ready to accept this young lady. So, get off.”

It was not without some playful resistance that Lord Henry relinquished his lover, and he only did so after contented that he had sucked a bruise into the artist’s neck which could only be hidden by a high collar and necktie.

As he lounged around the studio and entertained the lady during her sitting, he relished the sight of that fashion so atypical of Basil and delighted in watching him occasionally absently bring his hand to touch over the spot where that red mark lay.

**Author's Note:**

> My logic in how this avoids the canon tragedy is thus. In the interpretation I described above, Lord Henry would be jealous of Basil's devotion to Dorian, and therefore corrupt Dorian out of some degree of jealousy, effectively ruining that pure thing that Basil was so in love with. If, however, he had courted Basil first, he would have no need to do this, even if their paths crossed at a later date. Basil, on the other hand, might still be influenced by Dorian's beauty in his art, but the presence of a partner (even if the love is by necessity hidden) would remove the element of desire from it, rendering it a purely artistic interest and therefore the complete devotion would no longer exist.


End file.
